


seasons

by xHeyKYJx



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 03:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15596985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHeyKYJx/pseuds/xHeyKYJx
Summary: It's during the first few days of fall that Chan begins to notice it.Black-and-white marble cover, tattered pages that have gone soft at the edges. Black and blue ink, sometimes a little bit of red. It's like a flickering TV screen; he can only hope to see what's on each page before it's turned again and again.Or, Chan is curious to know what Jeongin is hiding in his notebook.





	seasons

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*
> 
> Content may be triggering.

It's during the first few days of fall that Chan begins to notice it.

Black-and-white marble cover, tattered pages that have gone soft at the edges. Black and blue ink, sometimes a little bit of red. It's like a flickering TV screen; he can only hope to see what's on each page before it's turned again and again.

And Jeongin never lets the damn thing out of his sight, either.

It’s important to him. Chan can tell that much; who couldn't? He wants to read it, to see what falls out of Jeongin's brain and onto the page. He wants to delve into the endless words that can't be spoken, but he can't. It's none of his business, anyway.

He still wants it to be, though.

—————

The pages turn rapidly like the white caps of waves, and Chan can see that there's more red ink on the pages, much more than the scrawled black words and disfigured blue sketches.

He decides to ask Jeongin about it.

“Whatcha writing?" He asks casually, sliding down the practice room wall to sit next to the younger. Jeongin glances at him warily from the corner of his eye, turning the notebook away from him. "Nothing..." he mumbles. Chan bites the inside of his cheek, remembering the infinite scribbled words and twisted drawings and wants to rip the damn thing from his hands and read it, read every single word.

But he can't.

He shouldn't.

“Okay," he says, easy as that. And Jeongin keeps on writing, hand shaking and pen quivering, and Chan wants to scream.

But he can't.

—————

It's three days into winter when Chan scours Jeongin's room for the notebook, but he can't find it. All he can find are clothes, empty energy drink bottles, school supplies, pictures of his parents and brothers. Normal things.

But no notebook.

—————

It's two hours later, as he keeps on wondering where the stupid thing could be, that he realizes there were no red pens in Jeongin's room.

It’s thirty minutes after that when he goes through everyone else's rooms and realizes that no one else has red pens, either.

—————

When Jeongin is sleeping, Chan devises a plan.

It's simple, really. So, so simple, but he's still terrified.

_Just his sleeves. Just pull them up, and if there's nothing there, go back tomorrow and check his stomach._

But he's scared. Jeongin is a light sleeper, and if he wakes up, how the hell is Chan supposed to explain what he was doing? _Oh, don't worry, kid, just making sure you're not trying to fucking kill yourself._

He's terrified.

But he has to do this.

When everyone else is asleep, Chan slips from his bed and creeps down the hall, ignoring the shadows that suddenly look so menacing.

Jeongin sleeps on his back, which makes this much easier. Chan carefully pinches the soft sleeve of his hoodie between two fingers and pulls it up, slowly, slowly.

"Oh my God," he whispers.

So many lines. White, brown, pink, red.

"No," Chan whimpers. "No, Jeonginnie, _no_."

So many scars.

Too many.

 _Fuck_.

—————

Chan doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell the others, he doesn't mention it to Jeongin, not even to the kid's parents. He doesn't know how.

He notices the red on the pages, now in smudged lines over black and blue ink.

He doesn't know what it means, but he wants to. God, does he want to.

But he can't.

—————

It's the first day of spring when Chan awakens to a scream.

He gets up so fast he falls, thudding to the floor in a tangle of sheets. Panic and fear stab his chest like spears, encouraging him to violently rip the sheets away and sprint down the hallway.

He finds everyone in a cluttered circle around the bathroom door, and he feels so cold, all of a sudden.

He pushes past all the bodies,

_/warm and alive/_

to see none other than Jeongin

_/lifeless/_

laying in the bathtub,

_/bloodless/_

wrists coated in flaking blood and skin so, so

_/cold/_

pale.

If only he had fucking _said something_ , if he had _asked_ , maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe Jeongin would still be alive, smiling and happy after he got help.

Chan thinks of the kid's parents, imagines their faces when they hear what happened to their baby.

Chan tries to scream, cry, hit something, hit himself, _anything_.

But he can't.

—————

It's midway through summer when Jeongin's funeral takes place.

All Chan can think of is the notebook.

He has to find it.

—————

He's found it.

And he really wishes he hadn't.

It had been hidden in the lining of the kid's backpack, and when Chan opens it and plops himself down on Jeongin's empty, cold bed, he cries.

Blood.

Words.

Drawings.

 _Death_.

So much death, it makes Chan want to rip the fucking thing apart in his bare hands, makes him want to fucking burn it.

He finds a note on the second to last page. _The_ note.  
On the last, he finds a drawing of the nine of them, so edgy and line-filled and _beautiful_.

“ _Oh, baby._ " Chan whispers as he traces the lines of Jeongin's face, the face that he drew himself, with his own two hands that took his own life, that took a piece of everyone's lives.

" _Oh, my sweet baby_."

—————

It's nearing winter again when Chan visits Jeongin for the first time.

"Hey."

He sits cross-legged before the grave, so grim and grey.

He doesn't know what to say.

"Things are good, I guess. Everybody's fine. We all miss you, kid. _I_ miss you." Chan swallows tightly. "Why did you leave me?" He whispers. "What did I do wrong, baby? What _didn't_ I do? Please, baby, _please_."

Chan doesn't know what he's begging for.

“I love you, Jeonginnie." He's rocking back and forth violently, trying to soothe himself, but it's no use. The tears are falling, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt.

"God, I love you so much. Why did you leave me?"

" _I'm sorry, Jeonginnie. I’m so, so sorry.”_

_—————_

The spring has arrived.

Pink petals, such a blue sky with fluffy white clouds, smiles and laughing children.

It's not the same.

Jeongin loved the spring.

Maybe that's why he killed himself on the first day of it.

—————

It's summer.

Jeongin is gone.

And there's nothing Chan can do.

—————

Fall is beginning. Warm colors fill tree branches and the air smells like leaves and pumpkins.

Jeongin is gone.

And Chan has to accept it.

—————

By the next summer, Jeongin is gone forever.

Chan knows this. He's accepted it, if only because there's no other option.

He still thinks of him, though. A brace-filled smile haunts his dreams, a sweet laugh rings in his ears when he awakens.

Jeongin is gone.

But his memory isn't.

—————

Three winters later, Jeongin is gone, not forever, but for now.

Chan still sees him at night, though. When he looks up at the sky.

He can almost see that smile, those eyes, those dimples. He can still see Jeongin everywhere.

It's not bad anymore, though. It's a lot better.

Chan still misses him. He still remembers the inked words in his notebook, the blood. He still remembers finding him on that spring day in the bathtub.

But he still remembers the good things, too.

The memories, not the flashbacks.

—————

_Jeongin screams, laughter bursting from his throat as Felix tackles him, sending them both to the practice room floor. "Hyung!" He shouts, laughing. "Hyung, get off!" Felix tickles his ribs relentlessly, grinning madly himself, as the rest of the team watches on fondly._

_"Jeonginnie, open." Jeongin obeys, eyes widening as Seungmin shoves his popsicle into the kid's mouth. Jeongin lets out a muffled yell, cringing as he tries to chew the freezing substance. "Mmm!" He glares at Seungmin, who's cackling evilly. "That hurt, hyung, you meanie!" Seungmin just ruffles his hair and Jeongin leans into his side. "Love you, Jeongin-ah."_

_"Hyungs!" Jeongin runs up to them in the practice room, waving a sheet of paper around in the air. "Hyungs, look, I got a one hundred on my history test!" Woojin pats his head and pulls him into a side-hug. "That's so great, Jeongin-ah!" He praises. "Let hyung see your good work."_

—————

It's been seven years.

Jeongin is gone, but Chan will see him again, when he's old and decaying.

The thought makes him feel better.

—————

It's on the first day of spring, fifty two years later, when Chan gets to see Jeongin again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this was so depressing. It’s honestlg just word-vomit but I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
